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Why did I have to
Win?
It was between Dad and
me.
It started when I was
little and it was a contest.
A contest that went on
everyday.
He would come home from
work.
Get something cold to
drink.
He needed to cool down
after a day in the Mojave.
Sometimes I felt like
hiding somewhere.
But I knew it would do
no good.
The contest had to be.
There was no escape.
I’d hear “Bobby, it’s
time”.
He’s get out the old
broom.
Hold it with one hand
right in the middle.
My little hands would
hold it too.
One on one side of
his.
The other on the other
side.
He’d hold it about my
head height.
He’d say "ok, now down
slowly".
I’d watch his forearms
muscle up
The same thing always
happened.
Half way toward the
floor I’d feel his strength.
Then both my hands
would turn, no longer able to hold.
Funny, he’d always say
the same thing.
“Bobby I felt you
today”.
“You are getting
stronger”.
Sometimes Mom and
Johnny would cheer me on.
But it did no good,
halfway down I felt it.
I could hold his one
hand no longer.
As the years went by
and I got bigger.
He could still beat me
every time.
As he got sicker, he
still beat me.
The day came when he
called.
I said "not today Dad",
I knew, yes I knew.
But there he stood with
the broom.
I knew that was the day
I would win.
I knew he was too sick,
I knew it.
But something in me
made me win.
Why did I do
that?
By that time he had
little left other than that broom.
I want that day
back.
My Dad should win once
more.
I should lose once
more.
I’m tired of feeling
shame. ©Bobby, March
2004
Thank you so much
for stopping by to read my stories. I
hope you
will come back again. Please sign my
personal
guestbook before you leave. Your
comments are appreciated.
Bobby
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